As Mugwort's barony came into view, Priscilla's group stalled their tracks as an ominous force assaulted their senses. A thick, metallic tang coated everyone's nostrils with an overpowering, putrid stench. Mixed into it was a cloying, almost primal sweetness that caused their stomachs to churn.

  Priscilla's face soured. The overabundance of scents struck like a rock against a nut, shattering any composure one could force. "What a disgusting stench! What is that?" She asked, her words laced with disgust.

  "Uh, it seems to be blood and-" Jensen spoke up but paused as the thought came to him. "Seed?"

  "What are they doing to have such an overpowering stench of blood and seed pervading the air? He added with disbelief.

  "Seed? You mean-" Priscilla said before puckering her expression. "That's horrid, Jens!"

  "I don't know, Pris! Jensen blurted. "It's just what it feels like, a familiar tinge that most men should recognize!"

  Many of the mercenaries shared knowing glances before nodding in agreement. "It does seem familiar, My Lady." One of them spoke, reconfirming the theory.

  Priscilla nodded reluctantly. "Stay vigilant. Something sickening is happening in the barony. Don't let them blindside you."

  "Let's proceed!" She commanded, rushing forward into the territory.

  As they barged into the barony's lands, the stench magnified tremendously, sickening all those present. The horses stalled as the sound of chains dragging echoed. Priscilla leaped off her steed and walked forward, the others following behind.

  They moved through desolate winding paths until the sounds were nearby.

  Before them, a group of leather-skinned impish demons dragged dozens of boys and men with their arms and legs chained to one another. Their faces were bound with torn cloths, preventing their sights from wandering. Priscilla paused, her eyes focusing on the sight of the captives, from young to old, wallowing in the unknown misery of being chained helplessly.

  Priscilla resisted every blood-crazed nerve in her body that flared, wanting to strike. She watched the demons turn a corner and followed slowly behind.

  The humans' steps were weary and forfeit. Were it not for the fear of death looming above, their steps would've faltered long before.

  "Pris..." Jens muttered from behind Priscilla.

  "I know." She replied. "Wait. They won't escape punishment."

  As they followed the demons, they witnessed the ransacked buildings and tattered cloths that lined the blood-soaked streets—the unfiltered devastation that laid waste to everything they considered precious as people. Silent fury spread through the ranks of Priscilla's group. They wished to attack, to rain death upon the demons. But they obeyed Priscilla's command and followed along, ready to strike.

  It wasn't long before they reached a clearing where the buildings were utterly shattered, leaving a vast, open terrain. Humans and demons filled the area, but not in any way that Priscilla's group may have liked.

  Men knelt in chains, surrounded by impish demons, muffled screams escaping through the bindings that covered their mouths. The torturous acts caused Priscilla's group to pause and stare momentarily, emotions blazing with fury and disbelief at the audacious and vile acts inflicted.

  To the sides, mounds of desiccated corpses piled up in the dozens. And the imps continuously filled pits with blood and seed, filling the craters with all of humanity's potential. Within one of the pits, a woman bathed, her head inclined back as she soaked in the seed, leisurely rejoicing.

  Priscilla's patience snapped, witnessing the woman's indulgent state. What little restraint she had left broke down. Neither Jensen nor any of the others needed to speak, for she already knew the time to strike had come.

  "Attack!" Priscilla roared, and like an extension of herself, the group charged, their fury unleashed.

  Their rushing steps alerted the demons, and the woman who turned toward them bared fangs and provoked malice on display. "How dare you!" The woman snarled. "Audacious vermin, you dare encroach upon my territory. Identify yourselves!"

  "Identify your corpse, Mugwort! Priscilla blurted as she shot forward with the wind at her back. Her eyes blazed like an inferno as she soared into the sky and launched a pillar of flame toward the woman.

  At the same time, Jensen, Azhir, and the rest struck at the demons with weapons drawn. Shrieks filled the area as the impish wretches fought back, breaking out in a brawl across the streets.

  Mugwort had no time to react as flames roiled around her, causing searing pain to spread across her bare flesh as her pleasure pit bubbled and evaporated into the air.

  Several of the mercenaries began freeing the entrapped men while the battles ensued. Dragging them away toward the sidelines, away from the chaos. The mercenaries' action caused the demons to panic and hasten their attacks, a desperate tactic that collided firmly against the group's fury.

  Jensen swept his waraxe in a wide arc that chopped through several of the impish demons, splattering their blood in a powerful display. He single-handedly fought off a dozen demons, holding them back. He roared, slamming his fist toward one of them approaching from the side, sending the malicious creature flying into one of the debris-strewn ruins of a building.

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  Priscilla watched coldly as her flames dissipated, the pit beneath her charred and empty, only a motionless ashen body within it. "Come on, Mugwort. Don't play dead." Priscilla spoke.

  A shrill cackle broke through from the pit as the charred flesh peeled and Mugwort raised herself. Her bare flesh mended visibly as blackened growths spread across it, tainting her human form into a demonic one. Leathery wings outstretched from her back and flapped with tempestuous force as she rose and stared eye-to-eye with Priscilla.

  "My, oh, my. This is a surprise," Mugwort said with an enticing timbre. "Girl, why do you look so familiar?"

  Her form continued shifting as her leathery growths covered her flesh in its entirety, crimson pupils glowing maliciously as a smile stretched across her face. "Who are you...?"

  "Mhm, I know you. Girl, I know you. You can't tell me otherwise! Who was it, that scalding glare and furrowed brows, the naivety plastered underneath." Mugwort craned her head back and forth in rumination before breaking out in a violent fit of laughter.

  "VALENTINE!" Her smile dropped, and she stared coldly. "It's you. But how? No, no, I know that face! There's no way I'm wrong. Those powers. Those flames. What have they done to you?" Mugwort spoke callously, her curiosities blazing as she took the situation in.

  "I'm surprised you remember me, Mugwort," Priscilla replied. "Some plans don't proceed as you wished them, do they?"

  "How could I forget," Mugwort said. "You were the final piece to begin the sacrificial slaughter across the empire. The final soul laid to rest. A curse for all of life as our kind descended upon them."

  "And yet, here you are." Mugwort chuckled curiously. "Was this a scheme by Duke Valentine? But no, he should not have the audacity to do so. The emperor? That paltry vermin's ego and stupidity can't compare with our plans to make a difference. So why then? Why are you here, you mere phantom of ash?"

  "Can't die peacefully while you lot are out here laying waste to humanity, can I?" Priscilla taunted with a smile on her face. Her thoughts were concealed under the facade as they processed Mugwort's words.

  "Your kind has no place among humans. Your cruelty, lust, viciousness, all your vile emotions are nothing but a plague to the normalcy that we rely on. Just look at the devastation you've brought upon the pitiful and the innocent." She said, pointing down to the ravaged town and the piles of corpses. The lust-driven seed farm had ended countless lives without a hint of remorse or concern.

  Mugwort hissed, baring her jagged teeth. "Naive child, who do you think you are to decide what we can or cannot do? Our kind has slaughtered you cattle long before your greatest of ancestors were even born. Do you think some meager ability is enough to lay waste to our plans?"

  "Preposterous. The might of Divala's eternal reign upon these lands is returning, and nothing you can do will stop it." Mugwort mocked, shrugging her spiked shoulders.

  "You're delusional and mad, Mugwort. We will stop it." Priscilla said before propelling herself toward Mugwort. Her emotions surged, and the markings coating the surface of her flesh illuminated, spreading out as her powers surged. Flames roiled in the palms of her hands, and she threw out a barrage of flaming needles in Mugwort's direction. "Enough blabbering. It's time for you to perish."

  Mugwort tensed as she noticed the markings gracing Priscilla's flesh. Her mockery faded, replaced by seriousness. She flapped her wings, dodging the flaming needles, and flew toward Priscilla.

  "You wretched hypocrite!" Mugwort snarled. "You dare talk of us not belonging. It's your kind that does not belong in this world. You accursed witch, how dare you, how dare you mock our attempts at survival?"

  Mugwort's speed was impressive as she bridged the gap between her and Priscilla, slashing out with her clawed hand.

  "What are you talking about?" Priscilla blurted in surprise as she collided with Mugwort's claw. Ice coated Priscilla's hand as the edge pushed back against the demonic grasp.

  While their battle unfolded, the demons below were fodder for Priscilla's men, their flesh painting the streets with vindication for the lives lost.

  Jensen led their fighters proudly, battering the demons with unrelenting ferocity. No matter how the impish creatures skittered and struck, they felt the sting of steel against their meaty flesh, dying miserably in the process.

  The freed prisoners watched in awe, the fierce warriors battling with determination and the surreal deity flying above. Their muddled, tortured minds struggled to process everything, but one of the mercenaries nearby roared, startling some of them into action. "Don't let their vile acts ruin you, pick up a weapon and fight! Fight for your lives and your future! The empire has no place for these wretched creatures!"

  Several younger boys cried out, running out desperately into the debris-strewn wreckage, grabbing splintered wood before rushing the nearest demon. They screamed and lashed out, striking the imp's flesh. The creature whipped its arm, striking one of the boys and launching his body across the paved stones.

  He struggled to raise himself, blood dripping from his face before flattening on the ground. His action stoked the flames, causing the men to howl, desperation, fury, and sadness bubbling over. Their emotions swelled as they joined the fray one after the other.

  "FIGHT! FOR A FUTURE!" Their voices mixed, scraping against the chaos.

  Tormented souls had a power in their own right, a steel will that could be sharpened when the stars aligned. And for these men, the time was now. Some would die, others would live, but the demons would perish no matter what.

  Priscilla's gaze flickered between Mugwort and the chaos below. Unknowingly, a smile formed on her face as she saw the determination of those fighting for a future despite the monstrous odds against them.

  The markings on her body spread, mingling with the Parthian source that lay dormant on her back. Wings of light unfurled from her back and flapped a powerful gust that blew Mugwort backward. "Let's end this, Karola Mugwort. Humanity still has hope. And the more of you demented bastards die, the more those odds will continue increasing."

  As the wings fully formed like a butterfly emerging from its cocoon, light radiated off Priscilla's body, turning her black gown into a pristine white. She outstretched her arms, wind swirling around them, chirping with an eerie excitement as the elements answered her beck and call.

  Mugwort tensed, her once prominent smile dwindling into the most prosperous frown. She screamed, rushing at Priscilla. "HYPOCRITE! YOU WICKED WITCH, WE WILL NOT LOSE!"

  "You blabber too much for a corpse," Priscilla said flatly as the two women clashed in the sky. "A lust-driven monstrosity has no right to speak of wickedness. You will lose, and there's nothing you can do to change that fact."

  All around Priscilla, the whiteness illuminated, drowning out Mugwort and the town in a blinding sweep of power that swallowed the darkness whole. Shrieks and howls turned into serene quiet. The clash of flesh and steel turned into a void of emptiness that placated the chaos. The last to vanish into the light, despite being the closest to Priscilla's surging power, was Mugwort's unwilling grimace etched eternally into her being.